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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775497">Rest for the Weary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretentiouskneecap/pseuds/pretentiouskneecap'>pretentiouskneecap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Grief, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, the boys deserve a good night's sleep 2k20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:03:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretentiouskneecap/pseuds/pretentiouskneecap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Qrow and Clover's lives as they cross Anima in the fight against Salem, told in moments of sleep.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Rest for the Weary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/satariraine/gifts">satariraine</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For satariraine, who has been working super hard and deserves all the sleep she wants (hopefully of better quality than most of the examples depicted here).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Qrow pries his eyes open, turning listlessly toward the large window to his left. The light pierces through his eyes right into his skull. He checks his scroll to see that it’s barely past early morning and curses Atlesians and their automatically-adjusting tinted windows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their first mission is set to start in a handful of hours. Qrow groans at the thought, swiping a hand over his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Last night he’d practically collapsed into bed, still in his travelling clothes. Regret for the choice surges through him, as sour and stale as the taste on his tongue, faced with a full day of missions and introductions ahead and barely rested anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After months of sleeping on the ground, the cushy mattress is far too soft to be comfortable. The plush foam sinks where his body lies against it, and the sensation brings up other, less pleasant memories he’d rather not revisit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His throat is dry and he swallows hard, hands itching for his flask. As Qrow rolls himself up to a sit, the throbbing of his head matches in time with his heartbeat and every movement makes it worse. He instinctively reaches toward the inside of his jacket before he catches himself, forcing his hand back down to the bed with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A number of joints crack as Qrow lands on his feet, stumbling toward the sink to splash water over his face. Once the tap is off, he starts to hear muffled voices through the walls, one high-pitched and excitable and the other more hesitant. Ruby and Jaune.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby’s characteristic knock sounds at the door, a carbon copy of Tai’s but more staccato and a little too fast to be anyone else. He’s got his hand on the handle by the time she’s halfway through and he moves fast to pull it open before she can finish the rhythm. Ruby pinwheels her arms and teeters, set off-balance by the sudden motion, and Qrow can’t help his amusement at her shocked expression. As an uncle, it’s his job to mess with his niece while he can; he doubts he’ll be able to outspeed her at anything before long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tease on the tip of his tongue flies out of his mind when he sees who’s with her. Apparently he clocked the voices right, but there’s one other person he hadn’t expected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Ace Ops’ leader is standing behind them, the same friendly smile from yesterday firmly in place. Qrow swears he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the dirt on his clothes sink further into his skin as he stares at that shiny white uniform. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heya pipsqueak, blondie,” he greets Ruby and Jaune, leaning against the doorframe as Jaune grabs his niece’s elbow to steady her. He sends a questioning glance at the Ace Op, gesturing to the scroll lying in the room behind him. “Isn’t it a little bit early for the round-up? There’s still a few hours before the start time on the schedule you gave us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If his tone gets more accusational than he’d intended at the end there, he can live with that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man clears his throat but Ruby cuts in before he can speak. “Clover came to gather the team leaders so he can debrief us before we go! Isn’t that cool, Uncle Qrow? It’s like we’re actual professionals!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, kid. Real cool.” As if they hadn’t done more huntsman and huntress work in the past few months than most so-called professionals had in years. Regardless, he won’t be the one to put a damper on Ruby’s enthusiasm and Jaune’s beaming smile. There’d been little enough of it on the road. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover breaks his military posture to rest his hands on his hips, smiling at Ruby before turning back to Qrow. “Exactly. I thought it might be good practice for them to see how a real mission debrief and information hand-off work. Since this is pretty high level, we thought you might want to come along, if you’re up for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow wonders if </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘we’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>means Ironwood, or if Clover just didn’t know how to deal with the kids alone. He sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me grab Harbinger and I’ll be right behind you,” he answers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow ducks inside to grab the weapon lying in its usual place by the bed, and with one last longing look at his pillow, clicks the door shut behind him.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>—-</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should let me take you to medical.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover’s voice is fierce with concern, and Qrow can barely summon the energy to shake his head. Clover registers the motion, but he continues, more stubborn on this point than Qrow would’ve thought to give him credit for. “Or at least let me take you to Jaune. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to heal you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No reason except that Qrow’s fallen apart in front of the kids enough times, and he’s barely begun to earn any of their trust back. He doesn’t need them to see him like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head again and Clover sighs in response but gamely keeps helping him walk down the hallway toward Qrow’s temporary room. Defensiveness surges to the forefront of his tongue, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why do you care?,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he bites it back. Qrow’s not in a generous mood, but he’s not such an asshole that he can’t tell a good person doing him a favor when he sees one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not counting the fact that he probably wouldn’t get much farther without Clover’s assistance anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they reach his doorway, Qrow manages to keep himself upright long enough for Clover to shuffle Qrow’s scroll from his jacket pocket and open the door. They walk past the kitchenette and Clover plops him down on the bed. His expression is still flat, the perfect example of military-restrained emotion, but his hands are gentle as they peel the fabric of Qrow’s jacket away from the wounds. Clover moves quickly, ripping off the cloth with characteristic efficiency and pain shoots through Qrow for only a second before it fades back to a dull throb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
  <span>The cape is next and it comes loose with a sharp tug before Clover slows, takes more time to undress him from there. He gathers up the remainder of the layers of fabric over Qrow’s torso, bunching it inch by inch so Qrow doesn’t have to raise his arms any further than absolutely necessary to get the clothes over his head. Even so, the movement tugs at the wounds and Qrow is fleetingly grateful the shirt over his face hides his wince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover takes the torn-up fabric and folds it, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>he does, before setting it neatly in the laundry bin next to the nightstand. Hopefully the fabric isn’t ruined past repair. Qrow would hate to ask for more after everything James had already given them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover stands in front of Qrow, arms crossed over his chest and a disapproving expression fixed on his face. Qrow wonders idly if Clover ever teaches the academy’s students; that look would have them in line in no time, if his own reaction to it is anything to go by.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re sure I can’t get someone in here to look at those?” he asks, gesturing to the open wounds currently decorating Qrow’s abdomen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow waves a hand in his vague direction. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Thanks for the assist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No, Qrow, I’m not just going to—” Clover startles, and there’s still frustration in his tone but something like understanding lies underneath it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> unexpected, and Qrow suddenly wants to ask how many times Clover has downplayed his own injuries in front of his team. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover pinches the bridge of his nose before he shakes his head once, sharp. “I’ll sew them up myself, if you won’t let an expert do it. There’s always a first-aid kit in these rooms.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He disappears into the bathroom and Qrow can’t bring himself to protest, eyes slipping shut to the sound of Clover rummaging through cabinets. He uses the opportunity to take stock, breathing in deep to center himself. His aura was depleted but it’s already starting to come back— he can feel it swirling over his wounds, starting the painstaking process of knitting tissue back together. The wounds weren’t deep enough to be life-threatening, but the Sabyr’s claws caught him at just the wrong angle, enough to slice through layers of skin and fat down to the muscle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow is no stranger to gore, and yet he averts his gaze from the sight of the deep wounds and the bright red staining his skin and remaining clothes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover’s back within a minute, carrying a large kit that clinks and rattles as he hefts it onto the bed. His movements are business-like as he opens it up, opening a sterile field and ripping the top off packages of sterile equipment to drop the instruments onto it before donning gloves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow looks at the pristine set up and has to restrain his snort, thinking back to what passed for “medical equipment” back in the tribe. Sterility was instruments stored in the medic’s ancient bag, covered in decades of gore and tossed into a fire to clean it between injuries. Qrow is grateful that he’d trained his aura enough by a young age to clear out any opportunistic infections. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover fills up a syringe from a small vial and catches Qrow’s eyes as he switches out the needle attached to it. “This is a local anesthetic to numb the wound before I start.” He glances down to the gashes again and his mouth thins even further. “Those are going to take a couple rounds of stitches, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow considers telling him not to bother. He’s been through worse without pain-killers before, after all, and he’s still around. The protest is on the tip of his tongue when Clover shoots him a look and Qrow decides the argument isn’t worth the effort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The needle stings as it pushes deep into his skin, and Qrow bites back a hiss at the unpleasant sensation. Clover murmurs an apology. He pauses to give Qrow a break before he keeps going, hands steady against his over-sensitive skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover gives the medicine time to take effect while he preps the sutures. Qrow has been stitched up by all sorts and he can tell by the way Clover adjusts his grip on the instruments that he’s in good hands. Every part of Qrow is cold except where his aura pools around the injuries, and the warmth radiating off Clover is soothing. Minutes pass before he realizes his eyes have slipped shut, and only the snip of scissors cutting the excess suture draws him back to wakefulness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow pries an eye open to survey Clover’s handiwork. “How’d you get so good at this?” he mumbles, unwilling to summon the energy to speak clearly. The original wound edges were jagged but the sutures are arranged in neat little rows, the skin overlapping just enough to prevent scarring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The attention to detail is unnecessary. His aura will have the whole thing wiped away within a week, if not days. An uncomfortable combination of warmth and guilt rises in him as Clover smoothes bandages over the site with that same care, and Qrow turns away so he doesn’t have to watch anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits to see if Clover will respond to the opening. The luck joke is right there, and he expects Clover to go for it, to play into his expectations, but the lines around Clover’s eyes and mouth are tight as he surveys the results of his efforts. His focus is so intense that Qrow almost repeats the question, assuming Clover had missed it completely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you think you can’t rely on anyone, but you can,” Clover says quietly, and stands up to dispose of the used tools and materials. Minutes ago he’d been sewing up Qrow’s open wounds, but the words make him feel more exposed than any injury ever could. As a spy, Qrow would say his wit is one of his biggest assets, but he fights to find the right thing to say, some glib response that will release him from that gentle perceptiveness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover bends down to tug off his boots and then his socks and Qrow wants to disagree, to tell Clover to stop because he can handle it himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t remember the last time someone cared for him like this. Probably Tai, on some occasion when he’d stumbled home to Patch after a bad mission or bender, before he’d stopped relying on his teammate so he wouldn’t risk scaring the girls anymore. Qrow’d been self-sufficient ever since, until he’d joined his niece and her team on their journey and ended up burdening them all far more than he’d helped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to get used to that again, having a safety net. Doesn’t know what he’ll do when it gets whisked out from under him a third time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence is heavy and Qrow privately answers the question he’d asked before, fills in the obvious gap Clover had left open. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I guess I’m lucky you’re here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes sense. Clover is good luck, and well-suited to it. Confident, composed, and skilled. An ideal example to the kids and his team of what an elite huntsmen should be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Qrow— Qrow is bad luck. His semblance, Oz’s magic, they’d both known the truth of his life before he had. Flying from place to place carrying news as dark as his wings, and the only person he’d ever trusted to have the answers never did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slumps into the pillows and feels Clover push blankets up over him almost as if from a distance. His last, disorganized thought is that Raven would kill him for showing so much weakness in front of an Atlesian huntsman before he drifts off. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slight crunch of packed sand under booted feet and the rustle of thick, insulated fabric are the only noises of warning before Clover’s body drops into the space beside him with a heavy thud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow opens his eyes and cranes his neck to look, but not too far— the heat of Vacuo’s deserts evaporates with the rays of the sun and the cold night wind slices through him with every shift in his sleeping bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything?” he whispers, despite that he already knows the answer by the sheer fact that Clover is </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He would never have handed over his watch if he was worried about any danger, end of his shift or not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover snorts quietly. “Why am I not surprised you’re awake?” Another crinkle of fabric as Clover shakes his head. “All quiet so far.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Giggles from the other end of the campfire underscore the truth of that statement and draw his attention away. The number of voices he hears is far more than what’s needed for one night shift. The way the kids act, this could be a sleepover in Tai’s backyard instead of a makeshift camp on Grimm-infested sands, but he trusts them to stay alert despite appearances. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penny had offered to take all the night watches back at the beginning of their journey. She’d pointed out in her chipper voice that she didn’t need to sleep, not to mention that her Maiden powers and technology gave her heightened awareness over the rest of them. The idea had been turned down by unanimous vote on the grounds that it would be unfair, but he and Clover had more or less figured out between them that she stayed up most of the night anyway. She’s clearly awake now, her voice tight with barely-hushed excitement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow smiles to himself at hearing the kids still being kids. He wishes he could take more credit for it than he’s earned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover’s low chuckle drifts through the air across from him and he turns back over to see Clover’s gaze fixed on the rest of their group. “I remember being their age, the excitement of going on my first huntsmen missions. The responsibility wasn’t anything close to this, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No kidding,” Qrow says with a huff of amusement. He shakes his head. “I don’t think I got any sleep the first night I was out for the real thing. Not that I could’ve if I’d wanted to, our team was a magnet for trouble. We were always getting up to something.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The usual pang of melancholy at the thought of his old team grabs him for a second before he refocuses and pushes it to the back of his mind. There’s no time tonight to dwell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not much has changed there, huh?” Qrow can barely make out the edge of Clover’s smile in the glow of the embers of their small fire, extinguished for the night to hide their position.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I’ve gotten you this far, haven’t I?” Qrow challenges, and Clover makes an amused, skeptical noise. “What about you? Can’t say I can picture you getting into too much mischief, stickler that you are.” Qrow lets his teasing tone curl around the words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover lets out a noncommittal hum, refusing the bait. “I had my fair share.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I need to hear this. What, did you unfold one of the fancy dining hall napkins or something?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smirks as Clover reaches a hand out to swat at him and grins unapologetically, shrugging in response to the touch. He immediately regrets it as the movement causes the edge of the sleeping roll to unzip, the chill permeating into the air he’d just managed to warm with his body heat. Qrow shudders and yanks the zipper back up again, wincing as it catches on extra fabric and forces him to pry the piece out with numb fingers before he can finish the job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you cold?” Clover asks. He shuffles forward before Qrow can answer, until he’s close enough for the edges of their rolls brush against each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow grumbles, trying in vain to shimmy down further into his own bedding. The cold recedes a bit, with Clover acting as a windbreak. “I swear this is worse than Atlas. How is it not bothering you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just run warm, I guess,” Clover says, and Qrow can feel the shrug of his shoulders through the fabric between them. “Always have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lucky bastard.” Qrow mutters it under his breath, knowing full well Clover can hear it anyway. Clover laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling with the sound. Qrow is glad for how the darkness hides the way he flushes, pleased, but he doesn’t bother to hide his return smirk. He wonders if it looks as wobbly at the edges as he feels, almost disgustingly silly with growing fondness for the man lying next to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His semblance has always been a curse— something to be overcome, to be dealt with. All of that has changed since Clover. His misfortune is barely a lingering worry anymore, with the two of them training together and learning to be vigilant for its effects. It’s managed to be almost an asset at times. An inside joke between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow doesn’t mind sharing it with Clover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The beds at the Academy are a good deal more comfortable than sleeping on the desert floor, I’ll give you that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those beds make you soft,” Qrow scoffs, even though Clover’s not the one struggling to get to sleep at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or well-rested.” Clover looks up at the sky, the light from the shattered moon reflecting in his eyes. The stars are bright and countless in the darkness of the desert, and Qrow wonders if there’s anywhere else in Remnant that has so many. He’s used the constellations as guides often enough to pick them out from the crowd, but the edges are blurred by the hazy galaxy visible behind them.  “We never had a view like this though. The tundra’s too cold to sleep in outside, and there are too many lights in Atlas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“City boy,” Qrow says, fond, pillowing his head over his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voices from across the camp rise in pitch and volume for a moment, distracting them before they’re followed by a loud round of shushing. Clover shakes his head in admiration. “You know, I’d never really thought of myself as </span>
  <em>
    <span>old</span>
  </em>
  <span> before traveling with these kids. Their energy is unbelievable. I don’t know how you managed to keep up with them by yourself for so long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover stifles a yawn on the back of his hand to punctuate the end of that statement, and Qrow can see how he’s sunk further into the bedroll as they’ve talked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was there when Yang and Ruby were growing up. Trust me, it takes years of practice,” Qrow answers, pitching his voice lower. He nudges Clover’s elbow with his own. “Go to sleep, Clover.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow can see the dip of Clover’s chin as he nods, and within minutes he’s out, limbs heavy and breathing deeply. With a ball of warmth in his chest and the sounds of the camp blurring in his ears, it’s not long before Qrow follows behind. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>—— </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shifting of the mattress below him tugs Qrow reluctantly out of sleep. The air is quiet with the stillness of morning. He can see the slightest hint of light over his eyelids, and as he grows more awake he can pick out birdsong over the soft creak of the bed’s wooden frame. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was early.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow groans in displeasure, turning his face further into the pillow to block the light. Hours had passed before he’d fallen asleep the night before, the thin walls of the inn unable to block out any sound above a whisper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their neighbors had been arguing well into the evening, until Clover had been driven to go ask them to quiet down in that polite, Atlesian way of his. Which was soon followed by Qrow’s furious pounding on the walls when the yelling restarted a few minutes later. The need for sleep had far outstripped any inclination to be civil. They’re drained and exhausted, and both of them need the rest to help their auras recover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The creaking pauses and the sheets rustle again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Qrow? Are you awake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow cracks open a bleary eye to look at the blurry shape above him, registering more clearly as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twisting, he throws his arm back over to the side table, holding back a wince as his muscles protest the sudden stretch. After a bit of scrabbling, he manages to grab his scroll. He looks at the numbers on the internal clock, squinting to bring the bright screen into focus. When he processes the time, he groans again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he huffs, in defiant answer to the question. “Why’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> awake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haven’t been able to sleep,” Clover admits, shifting his weight on the bed, and Qrow frowns. ““Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ll go so you can rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow opens his eyes fully this time, fighting the urge to let them fall shut. “It’s okay, you don’t have to leave. I’m awake now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words come out in a mumble and Qrow can hear the skepticism in the silence that follows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I’m convinced,” Clover says finally, with amusement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow pats the empty space next to him. “Come here,” he slurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover hesitates but gives in, and as his weight settles back onto the mattress, Qrow repositions to look Clover in the eye. He rests his head on his hand even though it aches to drop back onto the pillow. “Hey. What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover leans back against the headboard and huffs, running a hand through his hair. The other curls and uncurls in the blanket, and the nervous habit does nothing to alleviate Qrow’s concern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow knows this isn’t the first night in a row that Clover hasn’t slept. He doubts it was even the second. Clover tries to be discreet, but Qrow grew up defending his camp from packs of animals and Grimm alike, and any abrupt noise is enough to wake him up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow spent the first half of his life curled up next to Raven as he slept. The position was as much for pragmatism as for comfort— it was the most efficient way to share warmth and protect each other, alongside any possessions they didn’t want stolen at night. An hour into their first night as team STRQ at Beacon, Raven had climbed down from her top bunk and put her back to his like she’d done every night before, with a muttered “shut up” as she squeezed into the small space. Qrow laid in the crack between the bed and the wall all night, but he’d finally felt safe enough to sleep with her behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning, they’d woken up right when Summer and Tai did. An awkward moment of silence stretched along and Qrow could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> Raven’s hackles raising until Summer grinned and pronounced the position “cozy.” By the end of the day, their beds were piled together, occupying almost all the open space in the room, with all four of them piled into the center. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they’d grown up, he’d gotten used to spending the occasional night without anyone next to him. Usually with Tai’s snores audible through the walls or the girls’ cries waking him up in the middle of the night instead. He’d only learned how to sleep truly, completely alone after he started taking spy missions for Oz, and he never was as well-rested on them as he was with his team. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover's presence fills a gap in his life Qrow thought he’d dealt with years ago. He’d tried to close it with booze and strangers, but nothing managed to take the place of having someone familiar at his back. Between having a partner again and his lack of drinking, he was sleeping better than he had since team STRQ crumbled apart. It wasn’t anything near perfect, but even with Salem's spies lurking around every corner, he felt more focused and sharp than he could remember. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow knows Clover has his own struggles with sleep that are nothing like Qrow’s. He has difficulty sleeping even at the best of times; he’d hidden it from them, at first, but Qrow wasn’t Ozpin’s top spy for nothing. Between his own tendency to wake up at the slightest sound and Clover’s careful avoidance of the subject, he had put the pieces together somewhere along the road to Vacuo, and eventually Clover had filled in the rest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He explained how the difficulty sleeping had crept up on him in the Academy and was only accentuated by his promotion to a Specialist and then an Ace Op. The countless hours pouring over Grimm attack patterns and mission logs after work until Clover’s mind forgot how to shut itself off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have a plan,” Clover says. He keeps his voice hushed even as it sharpens, unwilling to disturb the kids through the thin walls. “After what happened in Atlas, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vacuo</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” he cuts himself off, turning his head away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow pauses to give Clover space to think. He still forgets, sometimes, that Clover hasn’t been in the thick of it as long as the rest of them. Hell, Qrow’s been doing it longer than the kids have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the sheer magnitude of all the fighting looming ahead of them threatens to overwhelm him with every unexpected development. Clover’s easygoing enough, but he’s a man of action, like Qrow. Neither of them are good at handling this sitting and waiting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When nothing else is forthcoming, he places a hand on Clover’s arm and gives a light squeeze. “You know that wall isn’t one of Salem’s allies, right? You won’t be able to set it on fire by staring at it unless you’ve been lying about your real semblance this whole time, and trust me, you don’t want that. I’ve worked with someone with that ability before. It’s a nightmare.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover twists back to give him an unimpressed look, but his lips twitch at the edges, so Qrow can’t regret his poor attempt at humor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clover,” Qrow tries for a more serious tone, hoping it’ll be enough to elicit more information. For all that Clover chides Qrow for deflecting, he’s not the only one who keeps things internalized. “I know we’ve had some setbacks, but we all made it out alive. The kids need a little time to recover and regroup before Salem’s forces rally and come after us again, and so do we.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With every day that passes, more places that are supposed to be ‘safe’ slip through our fingers and into the enemy’s. Each time we fight them, we lose a little bit more in the process. We keep going like this, and eventually we won’t all make it out,” Clover points out. His shoulders are a tense line, barely touching the headboard anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not saying you’re wrong. But our problems won’t be solved in one night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover swallows. “In Vacuo, I barely managed to make it to you in time. I never want to be put in that position again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow squeezes his arm again, at a loss for words. He’s no stranger to nights ruined by lying awake, ruminating over decisions and wondering what could’ve been done differently. The fall of Atlas still haunts him. He knows it probably will for as long as he lives.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of those thoughts will help Clover tonight. Qrow racks his brain for ideas and lands on late nights with team STRQ, the way having his teammates nearby could calm him like nothing else. A thought strikes him. “Lie down and turn over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn over. I’ve got an idea,” Qrow repeats, shoving lightly at Clover’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover raises his eyebrows and gives him an odd look before following the instruction. “And here I thought you didn’t want me to follow orders,” he says. If his voice isn’t as strong with the joke as usual, well, Qrow isn’t going to complain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only from other people,” Qrow replies without missing a beat. “Trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brings his hands up to Clover’s shoulder blades and presses his thumbs into the muscle there, using the pressure to relax them. When that’s done, he works his way up the back of Clover’s neck to the base of his skull and repeats the process. Clover sighs at the touch and Qrow doesn’t bother to fight the small smile that springs to his lips at the sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits a few minutes before speaking again, low and soft. “I’m okay, you know. I don’t plan on going anywhere.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not a promise, because Qrow of all people knows there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to keep it. The gods abandoned Remnant long ago, but Qrow thinks of Clover and the kids and hopes to anyone or anything listening that he’ll be able to honor the words anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the very least, he knows his current plan is working when Clover’s only reaction is a delayed hum of acknowledgement. It’s enough for now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow’s not sure how long they lay there awake, quiet in the receding darkness. He kneads lazy circles and listens for Clover’s breathing to even out as his partner slowly relaxes into sleep. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow scrunches his eyes, waking up to warm light on his face and the gentle rustle of branches against the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Less gentle is the sound of people moving about the kitchen downstairs, pots clanking and cabinets thudding shut behind a general hum of conversation. He can tell by the low voice rising over it all that Tai is deep in telling one of his stories. Probably to the girls’ embarrassment, if the higher pitched protests are anything to go by. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow blinks at the sun shining through the curtains, letting his mind adjust to being awake. In a haze, he makes out Clover lying on the bed next to him and slowly registers the other, more familiar sensations he’d filtered out- soft, even breaths and warmth where Clover’s body touches his. The weight where Clover’s arm is thrown over his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Green eyes open and catch his own, bright and sharp. Clover smiles. “Good morning,” he whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow pauses to clear some of the grit from his voice before he speaks. “Mornin’. How long have you been up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not long,” Clover says with a shake of his head. “Figured I’d wait for you to get up before going downstairs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow groans at the thought, rolling over to lie on Clover who lets out a gentle “oof” at the unexpected weight. “You’re gonna have to wait a bit longer then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A muscle in his back twinges in protest at the new position, and he shifts around until he finds a more comfortable one, making sure to avoid any areas on Clover that are still tender. Clover’s heartbeat is steady and strong and soothing under his ear when he settles. Both of them are still recovering, still adjusting to the new world they live in even after weeks of rest and Jaune’s aura amplification, but Qrow can’t complain. Not now, when his family is finally safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Qrow grabs the edge of the light sheet and pulls it up to cover them both before Clover can protest. His nose is probably cold where he presses it up against the column of Clover’s throat, but he decides his partner will have to live with it. The soft brush of his lips over exposed skin is the only apology he’s going to give. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clover shifts his arms around him, chuckles. “You know we have to leave this bed sometime, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Says you,” Qrow argues back. So he’s not the most mature this morning. He thinks Clover won’t be too upset by it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone time had always been in short supply for the two of them. Something only found in private glances and stolen moments as they traversed the length of Anima. Of course Qrow welcomes the ability to have everyone gathered under one roof without a world-ending threat hanging over them, but this morning he indulges the need to be selfish. After all, he and Clover have all the time in the world to lie there, with nothing more urgent than the smell of pancakes starting to waft through the air to get up for. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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